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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 88

Double Elegy

An outdoor bar shaded by palm trees,
your husband’s arm around your shoulder.
On the bar, two margaritas. You smile
in this picture taken four years ago.

It’s displayed with others up on the screen,
pictures of you from your teens
till the present. Their lights and shadows
differ from the light and dark
at midday in the chapel. You’re upfront,
laid out, except it doesn’t look like you.

At Johnson, Miller, I’d sit across your desk
from you. Take a vacation, I would say.
I’d sit across your desk from you
and you’d make me laugh so hard I’d cry.

Years ago I kissed a girl at a drive in movie.
Later she became a woman.
Then a woman dying in a hospice.
Her ashes were scattered off the Florida coast.

On her deathbed she asked a friend,
Is there something after this?

  Peter Mladinic